“Left shoulder,” Alessio says as he kills the engine and draws his weapon.
“I know,” I answer, grabbing my laptop bag.
We step out into the cold night air, the silence of the docks echoing with the ghosts of the past. The loading-bay door is open, and that is worse than a lock.
And after ten years, I’m not afraid of the dark. I have Alessio at my side, and I have a vengeance to finish.
"Let’s go," I say.
We move toward the warehouse, the heavy scent of salt and oil filling my lungs. This is where the numbers turn back into blood. The moment where the money trail leads to the blood.
And as we step through the open door, I realize that the most dangerous thing in this building isn't Vane or the Bellantis.
It’s the man holding my hand when he decides there’s no more reason to hold back.
14
ALESSIO
Steel grindsagainst concrete beyond the loading bay, and the sound carries through the open gate, a tectonic groan from the hollowed-out carcass of the warehouse. The air tastes of old oil, wet dust, and the sharp, metallic tang of an ambush. My pulse doesn’t kick.
It shouldn't. I’ve spent my life cutting into the heart of this city; I know how to stay still while the world bleeds out. Beside me, Amara is a shadow, lean and focused. She stares at the security panel, her brow furrowed, her fingers hovering over the keypad.
The gate didn't open because I forced it. It opened because Turi’s protocol recognized a Costa access signature.
The realization is a jagged piece of glass sliding into my gut. The amber light on the console blinks in a rhythmic stutter. Data packets scroll across the screen, mocking me. The code is a fingerprint. Turi’s fingerprint. I’ve spent eleven years studying the architecture of our family’s security, learning every curve and sharp edge. This isn't Vane’s work. It’s not the Bellantis' crude brutality.
Turi’s touch is everywhere—in the warehouse cameras, the bypass, the mirrored protocols stolen from the compound. Even our safety was built with his fingerprints on it.
The man who taught me how to hide just opened the door to the slaughterhouse where my father’s life ended twenty years ago. And he just did it again.
"Alessio?" Amara’s voice is a low thread of concern, cutting through the roar in my head. She reaches out, her hand hovering near my arm but not touching. “The gates... they didn't just unlock. The protocols were suspended by a delayed command from inside the compound. Someone gave us the keys before we even left.”
If I look at her, the dam will burst. My brothers fan out into the darkness, silhouettes flickering against the dim emergency lights. Dominic is at the front, his posture a declaration of war, eyes searching for a phantom in the rafters. He doesn't know. None of them know that the man responsible is currently locked in the sub-level holding room back home.
"We need to move," I rasp, the words feeling like swallowed gravel. "Now. Back to the cars."
"We’re here, Alessio," Dominic growls, his voice echoing off the corrugated steel. "Vane is inside. We finish this tonight."
"It’s a trap, Dom," I say, my voice rising. This warehouse is a grave. It was a grave for my father, and it’s been waiting two decades to swallow the rest of us. "The gates were opened for us. This isn't a breach. It’s an invitation. We’re walking into a kill box."
Dominic freezes. He trusts my instincts, but the hunger for Vane’s blood is a physical thing in the air. He wants the end of this war. We all do. But I'm the only one who can see the wire we’re about to trip.
“Amara, SUV.” I step into her space, my body a shield, forcing her back toward the entrance. “Get the bridge online and tell Vincenzo the gate opened itself. If I say run, you drive.”
She doesn't waste breath arguing. She reads the kill box in my eyes and the shake in my hands, and she already knows her work is safer from the SUV. She turns and runs, her boots slapping against the concrete. I don't breathe again until the heavy thud of the armored door rings out.
"What did you see?" Dante asks, stepping out of the shadows.
“Turi’s access opened the gate,” I say. “We withdraw now and talk at the compound.”
I don't give them the rest. I can't. Not here. Saying his name out loud, here, in a kill box, breaks us before the Bellantis can. The question isn't whether to tell them. It's how, without detonating the family. We are in the middle of a war with the Bellantis, and the foundation we’re standing on is made of Turi’s deception. If I pull the thread now, the whole thing collapses while the enemy holds the match. I have to carry it. I have to be the silent cage for one more night.
The withdrawal is all clipped orders and Dominic’s jaw working. He wants Vane’s blood and I’ve just pulled him off it with half a reason. Dante covers our six. Matteo watches me like he’s counting the things I’m not saying. We move back into the night, the South Side air thick with the smell of failure. The drive back is radio traffic and clipped questions—Vincenzo tracing the remote command, Dominic demanding to know how the gate knew us—and my one-word answers stretching the silence thin. Amara is already on her tablet, one hand braced against my thigh as she traces the command that opened the gate.
She’s the only anchor in this car, and she’s working while she holds me steady. Even if I have to cut through every lie in this house to do it.
When we reach the gates of the compound, the stone walls look like the bars of a cage. Every security camera and motion sensor suddenly looks like a place his access could have touched
